


Crosses Still Burn; Axes Still Fall

by Lucky107



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And down on your knees, you just don't look so tall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crosses Still Burn; Axes Still Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Viking Death March - Billy Talent - 2012

Standing atop a pile of old, half-rotten corpses, permanently stained in blood that is not her own, a young woman tilts her head. Her expression is flat. Her eyes, empty. Her lips are dry and cracked; her face is smeared with dirt and blood and sweat. She smells more like death than body odor as her shoulders, bulky and square, heave with roughly.

In her hand, clutched in strong, desperate fingers, is a blood-soaked machete. Fresh crimson drips from the blade, pooling in messy, scattered drops at her feet.

"Teddy," she breathes, her voice hoarse and gravelly, as though tiny shards of glass are caught in her throat. Immense pain wracks her overworked, exhausted body and burns through her like liquid fire. At this rate, it won't be long before these Infected beings tear through her flesh, consuming her alive.

Her sightless eyes move across the barren, smoky landscape, not blind, but unseeing, trailing like a slug towards their target...

In the distance, a small figure stands. It's the body of a child, no older than thirteen, and he holds a small gun in one hand. The other hand helplessly snags into his sweater vest, seeking comfort in the fabric. At his feet, another half-rotten corpse rests, unanimated and finally lifeless.

There's a single hole in the temple of the head.

A single shot to the brain.

The boy's face, an expression of mixed fear and horror, turns in her direction at the sound of his name. His hair is messy, tangled and smeared with filth. It falls into his face, but he doesn't notice. He's tired. There are dark bags under his eyes, evidence of countless sleepless nights, and his face is a mess. Still, a childish face shines through the mud and the blood.

"We have to leave this place."

"Where...?" The boy mumbles through numb lips. "Where will we go...? Where _can_ we go?"

"We have to keep moving," the woman concludes, stepping down from the bodies with staggered steps. They're human, but so incredibly hostile. She's given no choice but to cut through each and every one, as much as it warps her mind to know that she's slaughtering human beings. 

If she doesn't, the boy will die.

Her pale hands, shaking and wary, are soaked with human blood. She must learn quickly to kill in order to survive. "Wherever we go, we can't stay here. This place isn't safe."

The boy's eyes fall. How many times has he heard this line since he met her?

"Nowhere is safe, Rusty."

She knows this. More than anyone, she knows this. There is nowhere they can go to escape the continuous appetite of these flesh-eating monsters. No matter how far they run, no matter how long they fight, there is no end. The Infected aren't smart and they aren't strong, but they're constant. There is little room for food, for shelter, for sleep. 

This is what will kill them in the end.

As she contemplates their next move, mulling over the options in her tired mind, that horrible sound comes again.

It's a deep, hungry groan that makes her stomach churn. It's accompanied by breathy grunts and throaty moans - the lifeless sound of the Infected - as another wave shambles in their direction. They must have caught the scent of living flesh and migrated with the intetion of feeding.

Within moments, they'll be under attack once again.

"C'mon," she says, reaching for the boy's calloused hand. She holds on tight, pulling him free of his worried stupor. She doesn't yet know where they'll go, or if it'll be any safer there, but hanging around here any longer would be suicide. They just need to find someplace to rest awhile. "Let's go."

Through a small cut in the chain-link fence, they escape.


End file.
